A Song of Fire and Blood - Book One: A Game of Thrones
by Lord Roko
Summary: What if Aerys died in Duskendale? What if Rhaegar married Cersei? Massive What if scenario with lore changes. Book one of the trilogy: The Starks and the Lannisters go to war for dominion of the Riverlands, while Ned Stark ventures beyond the Wall to stop Mance Rayder and his wilding army. The Iron throne's position in Essos is threaten by the remains of the Blackfyre usurpers.
1. The Kraken's Dream

This is my first time doing an english fanfic, so don't be mean. I love ASOIAF and George R.R. Martin is an inspiration for me. I want to write my own original stories, but I needed to get this story out of my system first. This is a massive what if scenario with some lore changes, and I really made my homework on the characters for this. Many people dead in the books will be alive, and some who were alive will appear dead in here. Please enjoy and R&R.

AN: The ages of the characters will be more or so like the show, for dates and timelines sake.

* * *

 **The Kraken's Dream**

The weather is changing. The Storm God was fighting the Drowned God, his son Aeron would say. Yet, Lord Quellon Greyjoy was educated enough to know better; the storm was a sign. The long summer will end soon, this storm was just the first of many more to come, each striking harder than the last until winter arrives. The current storm was a God's piss, as Balon used to call it, compared to the ones winter was holding for them. It was clear enough that Quellon could see through the window of his solar a crow feasting in the eye of a hanged corpse. An ill omen, bringing even a more ill memory.

"Seeing your work under the God's piss, father" he heard say by a grim voice, none other than his sixth son.

"Not this again, Victarion. That's not why I asked you to come" said Lord Quellon, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Of his remaining sons Victarion was the only one who followed his rule willingly, although not without question.

"Those were holly men you hanged, just for living up to the Old way. They were loyal men!" yelled Victarion, forgetting himself.

"They were criminals. I forbade raids and pillages along the Seven Kingdoms, and they disobeyed. Those who break my laws should know better than to come back to Pyke and stay unpunished. Your brother Euron did!" answered back Lord Quellon, standing up despite his gout. Rather stand the pain than allowing disobedience from his own son.

"Don't name the _Crow's Eye_ in front of me. You're the only reason he's still alive! What happened to you, father?! You used to be the bravest of all! The oldest among us still sing of your raids all over the Westerlands. _The Golden Kraken,_ they called you for all the gold you took. Now you just stay in your chair, old and crippled, playing your games like a mainlander, even trading Balon's son as stoke and selling his daughter like a common whore!" Victarion went a step too far!

"That's enough, Victarion! I might be your father, but I'm still and above everything else your liege lord. The songs are just that…songs. They sing of Balon and his sons, who are now dead, despite Aeron's foolish claims. The Drowned God's watery halls are just a lie we tell ourselves to not be afraid about our demise! When I raided the Westerlands the realm was at its weakest, there was a war and Tytos Lannister was even weaker. If I hadn't learned to play _my games_ as you call them, we would have been squashed. The Realm is at its strongest, yet there will always be breaking points…You have no idea what I set in motion the day I sent Theon to Winterfell and betrothed Asha to the Tullys. Peace won't last forever, and that's the moment we make our move and not before. Chaos is a ladder, my son, one we will climb when our time comes. The Kraken will rise above all, and only by playing the game of thrones you despise so much we will succeed" said Quellon, leaving no room for complains. The pain was killing him, but he stood his ground nevertheless, as he could not afford to look weak in Victarion's eyes. His respect for Quellon's strength was what kept him in line.

"Then, speak what you will, m'lord. I'll see it done but expect no more. I'm your soldier, father, but not your slave!" argued Victarion, and Quellon knew he had won.

"I heard a whisper from Doran Martell…he assures me an ironborn has conquered the Stepstones and proclaimed himself Pirate King. Some say this man bears a red eye for a sigil…"

"The Crow's Eye…" mumbled Victarion, gritting his teeth. Quellon couldn't help but smile, as he knew his son didn't need any more convincing.

"We need to act before the Silver King learns about this. You will take the Iron Fleet and sail to the Stepstones. Raid them, burn them, bring them to heel…I don't care, but if your brother is there, you shall bring him to me. Alive!"

"No, father…the Crow's Eye is mine! You will not protect him from me this time!"

"Do as you will, my son, but remember this. If I exiled Euron for breaking my laws, what do you think I'll do to you if you return home a kinslayer?"

Victarion did not say more; he listened Quellon's commands and left without another word. Nine sons he fathered, only four reached manhood, and only three were still alive, with Victarion the only one who still respected him, but for how long, Quellon wondered as he sat back in his chair, embracing the pain. He would kill to be drowned in a sea of milk of the poppy, yet he would have to conform with what Maester Wendamyr rationed for him. He opened a drawer in his deck and pulled out a small bottle, half filled with milk of the poppy; he didn't hesitate and empty it in his glass of wine, mixing it and then he drank it all. It tasted weird, like ink. Quellon dropped the glass to the floor, not caring as it shattered in a dozen pieces.

Quellon knew it was unlikely for him to be alive to see his dreams come true. He was seven and sixty, and probably would die before even winter arrived. That's why he sent Theon to Winterfell, so Rickard Stark could teach him how to live with honour and to keep him away from the poison the old way brought to his own children. It was luck that Balon and his older sons died at Braavos, leaving Theon as heir. Balon would have ruined the Iron Islands to no end, and the Ironborn would have cheered him for it.

The head of house Greyjoy let his eyes to close, as the milk of the poppy made its way through his body, and when he opened them again he was no longer in his solar, or in Pyke for that matter. He was in a land as green as jade, and as he walked it he knew he had been there before…wait, walk? His gout was gone and the pain it carried as well. He passed by a river twice as big as a dragon, maybe even bigger, but something was amiss; the waters were as black as a raven and all the fishes were dead, floating above for anyone to see. A feast for crows it was as the birds came to their abundant meal, but queer enough they only took the trout's eyes. A queasy feeling invaded him, and he just ran as far as he could get from there.

Out of nowhere, he found himself in the middle of a battlefield, with grass burnt so black as dragon glass, yet oddly the roses found a way to grow as strong as they could, tangling themselves over the corpses, which belonged to no man at all but to beasts instead; lions and wolves laying in the jaws of each other, counted by the thousands. But Quellon did not care about them, his eyes were in the giant creature in front of him. A three-headed dragon, strangled to death by a kraken, while its heads squabbled among themselves to their dying breaths. That sight filled him up with such excitement, that even his old cock grew hard.

He blinked and was no longer in the field, but in a castle hall, and that's when he saw it. A black monster, ugly and cold, who dared anyone to seat in it. The Iron throne, Quellon knew. He looked around and noticed the banners of the red dragon were gone, and only the yellow kraken of House Greyjoy remained. A shadow sat on the throne, an iron crown in his head.

"Theon?" Quellon asked, without answer. "Victarion?" he asked again but had no luck. He dared to ask again, hoping to be wrong. "Euron?"

The shadow smiled, and a chill crawled through Quellon's skin. His lips were blue and his eyes red as blood. For the first time in his life, the Lord Reaper of Pyke was afraid. The shadows filled the hall, leaving nothing but darkness. Then a light appeared, a torch. Then a man came in his direction, holding the torch. At first, he thought the man to be Euron, but when he looked again saw only a reflection of himself. It was like looking himself in the mirror, but the man had no face. The creature lifted its arm, trying to reach for Quellon's face. But the Lord Reaper stepped back, in fear. "Go away!" he yelled once, not knowing what to do. "Go away!" he yelled once again, preparing to run, but his legs failed him, falling instead. The creature was above him, kneeling as its hand reached Quellon's face.

"Go away!" Quellon yelled with all his strength. His skin burned with the creature's touch. He closed his eyes, waiting for the end to come, yet it never did. When Quellon opened his eyes again, he found himself back in his solar, covered in his own sweat. A dream, only a bad dream. He knew he was awake now as his gout came back to him.

"What the bloody hell was that?!" he whispered, expecting no answer. Except someone did.

"Shade of the Evenings, seaman. Only a drop in the milk was enough to make a seaman dream and see things that may come, as a seaman won't be here to see. A gift from a seaman's son" he heard the voice say close to the window, recognizing the lorathi accent, a man with dyed hair in white and red. Quellon wanted to yell for help, but the words did not come out, as he lost command of his own body, unable to lift a finger or to even move his tongue. "And another gift a man brought, this time from the Many-Faced God" said the lorathi, but Quellon didn't care what he said. It seemed like his gout spread through his body. It ached, but at the same time he felt nothing. The lorathi approached him, with a little bottle in his hand. "And a drop of this for the gift to be received. Worry do not, for a merciful gift a seaman's son have paid. Nothing more, nothing less".

Quellon would have killed to feel the pain of his gout again, but he felt nothing. Soon, even his eyes started to fail him. He knew the moment his eyes closed would be his last. "A farewell, a seaman's son asked for a seaman to hear" the lorathi whispered, but Quellon did not bother to listen. His ears started to fail him as well and knew his heart would follow soon. He remembered his dreams and prayed to the Drowned God, as he never has done before, for House Greyjoy to rise above all others, no matter what. As an act of magic, the Drowned God answered through the lorathi's voice. "What is dead may never die!" the man said, and Quellon knew Westeros would fear the kraken once again.


	2. Eddard I

How did you find my sort of prologue? Quellon Greyjoy's always been a character of interest to me. Writing Jaqen Hagar's accent was a reallly annoying xD. In this chapter you'll start to see the massive changes of this What if?. Enjoy and don't forget to review!

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 **EDDARD I**

The summer snows fell heavier, the winds felt somewhat colder. Ned knew what it meant, his house words came to mind. The summer had lasted far too long, the last winter was an old memory now. A wound deeper than any made by steel. He lost two brothers that winter, one by blood and one by heart. Ned shook his head, sending the shadows of war and death away, trying to leave Braavos in the past.

The captain of the houseguard, Jory Cassel, Theon Greyjoy and Lyanna's boy, Jon Snow, went tracking for a deserter of the Night's Watch. Apparently, the man survived an encounter with the King Beyond the Wall, Mance Rayder and his army, but instead of returning to Castle Black as was his duty, he ran away like a craven, while his brothers died fighting off the wildlings. Jory and the boys had found the deserter at a brothel north of Winterfell and brought him for questioning. Yet, it was not the only thing they found…

Jon found a whole litter of pup direwolves, apparently the mother died after she whelped. A sign of the Old Gods, Ned's father called them, they were five and one. A pup for every one of Ned's children, and even one for Jon. Catelyn was no thrilled by it, but she said naught. She never did.

Ned was there when Jory questioned the deserter, as he spoke of giants, mammoths, wargs and the Horn of Winter. The cold had driven the man to madness, Ned was certain. He wished his thoughts were true.

"I speak no madness, m'lord. Aye, I ran while my brothers died, and to be beheaded is a kinder death than theirs. I saw a brother be ripped apart by a giant. They're real, m'lord, I swear to every God in the world if there's any. Mance Rayder has a host of a hundred thousand men in Hardhome, I've seen them! A wildling told us he found the Horn, and with a blow the Wall would fall. That's why I ran, m'lord…in the brothel they found me was the mother of my son, a boy of ten named Ollie. I only wanted to see him once, m'lord"

"You realize you're a dead man, no matter what you say?" finally spoke Ned. An oath was an oath, and the law was absolute when it came to oathbreakers.

"Aye, I was craven and an oathbreaker, and hopefully my brothers can forgive me in the next life. But if I can have a last kindness from you, m'lord"

"Speak your last wish then, but know your life won't be spared"

"I care not for my life, I´ve lived enough, but I ask for my son's sake. Help him, m'lord, so he doesn't end up a thief like me, or worst…a craven"

Ned nodded, giving the deserter a relief for a moment, no matter how brief. He would try to help the boy, but orphans were as common as snow in the North, and no so easy to trust the intentions of a stranger.

"Call my father and bring this man to the Godswood. The King's Justice shall be done!" he said, as it was pointless to delay the matter any longer.

Ned had seen many executions in his time at the Eyrie, and how the southern lords paid for it to be done. But the Starks still followed the Old Gods and their way was the Old Way. The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. That's what his father taught him, and that's how he taught his children.

They had all reunited in front of the Weirdwood tree. His sons Robb, the eldest, Bran and little Rickon who kept himself behind the skirts of Catelyn's gown. The girls Sansa and Arya were there too. Ned liked it naught, but his father insisted. Winter is coming and the time for childhood is ending, he had said. Jon was there too, next to Robb and Theon. Their direwolves next to them, never leaving their side. A couple guards kept watch alongside Ser Rodrick, while Jory and Harwin held down the deserter.

The last to arrive was Ned's father, Lord Rickard Stark, the Old Wolf as many of his bannermen had started to call him. His dark brown hair had turned to grey a long time ago, with a beard that betrayed his age. In his eyes Ned could see himself, his brothers Brandon and Benjen, and his sister Lyanna, and everything he hated about himself he could see it in Rickard's eyes.

The deserter was brought to his knees, to stand before the face of the Weirdwood tree, so the Old Gods could judge him for his crimes. He murmured something, but Ned didn't know what. A last prayer, perhaps.

Theon held the scabbard of Ice as Ned's father drew the ancestral sword. Ned always marvelled at the beauty of the Valyrian steel blade, black as smoke but bright all the same. It was a beast of a sword, but Ned remembered how Brandon could lift it with a single hand. A sad smile came to his face against his will, but he washed it away as his father proceeded with his duty.

"In the name of Rhaegar of House Targaryen, first of his name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, I, Rickard of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, sentence you to die!"

And with a single swing of Ice, the deserter was death, his head rolling away from his falling body, while his blood fed the roots of the Weirdwood tree, turning them from white to red. Ned looked around, worried for his children. Robb was fine, he knew, as he was used to see this happen, and while Bran had seen it before, he still needed time to adjust, but Rickon worried him the most, as he was only six, but Catelyn held him in her arms, encouraging him to be brave, although she sent Ned a look of disapproval. He was proud of his girls, both Sansa and Arya acted accordingly, never looking away.

Ned felt Rickard's cold gaze on him, he gave Ice to Robb for him to clean the blade, and walked away, with Ned close behind him. He knew he wanted to hear what the deserter had said. They returned to the great keep, leaving everyone behind.

No one said a word until they arrived at his father's solar. Once inside, Ned proceeded to tell what the deserter had spoken, and Rickard's reaction was not so different to Ned's first impression of the man.

"Do you believe any of that?" his father asked.

"I really want him to be lying, but aye, I believe him. If what he said is true, then the Night's Watch can't do anything about it. Benjen will need our help, father"

Ned's father took his time to answer, and he hated every second his father took to do it. Ever since Benjen joined the Watch, his father had not spoken to him, but Benjen was Lord Commander of the Night's Watch now. A title he earned, not given to him. Although the Old Wolf was too stubborn to admit it, Ned knew he was proud of his youngest son.

"All right, then. Tell Luwin to send a raven to Castle Black. Give word to your brother, he shall have whatever he needs and more. You will raise a host of five thousand men and help Benjen bring this King beyond the Wall to heel!"

"Aye, father. I'll see it done!" and with that Ned turned to leave, believing all matters settled.

"Eddard! Take Lyanna's boy with you, let him taste battle and prove his worth. Robb shall stay here and serve as my right hand in your stead. I've also made some arrangements for the others" Ned heard his father say, and immediately knew something was wrong.

"What arrangements?! You're speaking about my children, not yours!" said Ned, anger palpable in his voice. His father always made decisions without consulting him, not even about his own children

"I'm still the Lord of Winterfell, Eddard, and you shall better not forget your place, my son! The King himself has asked for Sansa to be lady in waiting of his sister, Princess Daenerys, and I obviously accepted. She'll take a ship from White Harbour to King's Landing in a fortnight. Arya will foster at Sunspear, Doran Martell has promise me she'll thrive there…and Bran shall go to Storm's End, to squire for Stannis Baratheon" Ned's father said, and he could not believe what he had heard. The Lord of Storm's End was a harsh man, an unpleasing man who almost started a war with House Stark.

"You cannot sell my children as cattle! If you want Arya to thrive, send her to Bear Island, where women fight as good as any men. If you want Bran to be knighted, send him to White Harbour, not to Stannis Baratheon! That man insulted your own daughter! He called Lyanna a whore in front of you, and you send him my son? Have you lost your mind, father?!" said Ned, tired of his father's ambitions.

"Careful, Ned, that's twice I warned you now! Aye, I could have sent them there, but it'd have given us nothing! Tywin Lannister holds the crown, but I'll hold the realm! We already have alliances with the Riverlands, the Vale and the Iron Islands, and soon the Stormlands and Dorne will follow. It won't do the lion any good to rule when it's surrounded by wolves!"

Ned now saw what Benjen always complained about. His father was obsessed with Tywin Lannister, and the years had only made it worse. The lion and the wolf have been rivals since their youth, when they were part of King Aerys' court. Ned had heard all the rumours but never paid them any attention. Perhaps he was wrong to do so.

"You're alienating your own people! You married your cousin, I married a southern lady. Robb should marry a northern lady, before our bannermen believe they are forgotten! Winter is coming, Robb shall be wed before it does".

Ned knew he was right. Alliances can be useful at times of war, but at times of peace it is better to keep your countrymen beside you, instead of outsiders no one knows. Ned's father had already insulted Roose Bolton by declining his marriage proposal between Sansa and his son Domeric. Fostering his children in the South will only make the other lords wary of their intentions. Their people loved them, but distrust grew as easily as weed if left uncared.

"I told you of my plans as a courtesy. No father should be ignorant of his children's whereabouts, but make no mistake, Eddard. I'm not asking you for permission. But I agree with you, Robb should marry before winter comes. Aye, to a powerful northern house. I'll see to it, as you help your brother. Now go, my son, make haste, as you should ride before the moon turns".

Ned nodded, beaten. His father was still the lord and had the final say in every matter concerning the North, even concerning his children. Ned left the room in anger, hating himself, knowing full well how Catelyn would react. What would Brandon have done had he lived? This was supposed to be his, all of it. Ned was a soldier, groomed to follow orders, and so he did. But what to do when you know your orders are wrong? What should a son do when he knows his father is wrong? Jon Arryn was never wrong, as far as Ned knew, he always seemed to know all the answers. Gods, Ned missed the man, and Robert. Him too. It was a simpler time, before war and duty took everything he loved. Before Braavos and the death of King Aerys.

There were many matters he needed to take care of before he rode north. Tell Catelyn would be the hardest of all, saying farewell to his children not any easier. He needed to look for Maester Luwin; ravens must be sent. One to Castle Black, Benjen should know about their father's plans. Then, the bannermen…House Cerwyn, Tallhart and Glover should be Ned's first option, as they were the nearest. House Mormont, although short on men, was always the most reliable. The Umbers and the Karstarks were the closest to the Wall, so he could meet them there. He would need to ask House Manderly for ships if he wanted to reach Hardhome and take the wildlings by surprise. House Bolton should be called as well, as being left out would be a slight House Stark could not afford. Many things to do, a war to prepare for, and sons and daughters he had to say goodbye to. He was certain of naught but one thing only: winter is coming.


	3. Jon I

**Answering your reviews so far:**

 **Guest: Keep reading!**

 **Hitman: It's not unheard of a son, a brother, an uncle, a nephew or a cousin who claims you're unfit to rule to usurp your seat, but Ned would never do that, he's a soldier, a man of duty and honour and that's precisely the conflict within him. For your other questions, you'll have to keep reading.**

 **arashi0kage: I'll be leaving little breadcrumbs in all my chapters, and hopefully you will get them, xD.**

 **Please enjoy this and leave a review!**

* * *

 **JON I**

For almost a week now, Jon had seen the banners of many northern houses come to Winterfell. The axe of the Cerwyns, the mailed fist of the Glovers, the trees of the Tallharts, and the black bear of the Mormonts were those he recognized. Other minor houses had answered his uncle's call too, like the Forresters of Ironrath. Even some of the mountain clans came, like the Norreys and the Wulls, but others were already helping man the Shadow Tower. A thousand men host was assembled in Winterfell, with the Boltons, the Umbers, and the Karstarks joining us with a thousand men each at Castle Black. The Manderlys were coming too, with a thousand men of their own, but they were sailing to Eastwatch, so it was unlikely for Jon to see them.

Uncle Ned said they were riding at dawn, so this was his last night at Winterfell. Jon didn't know when he would return, if ever. He was going to war, and death was almost as certain as winter. But he sent all the gloomy thoughts away. He was excited for this, he would not only see the wall, but protect the wall. To be a ranger of the Night's Watch was a dream he had since childhood, but his grandfather never allowed it. "You have a role to play in the war to come, greater than even Robb's" the Old Wolf had said. Jon never understood what he meant. Lord Rickard always spoke of wars that never occurred.

Jon was a bastard, with a mother he barely knew, and a father with a name unspoken. He had heard rumours of Robert Baratheon and his mother Lyanna, yet his uncle Ned never cleared his doubts. "That's your mother's tale to tell, not mine" he always answered. Jon knew Robert Baratheon was his uncle's best friend, but he died in Braavos, as did his uncle Brandon. What damage could the truth make now?

Winterfell was the only home Jon ever knew, and his cousins were his true family. They were all going away, south as he was going north. Robb and little Rickon were the only ones staying behind, and Jon knew his cousin didn't like it much. Nevertheless, Robb was the heir and the future of House Stark laid on his shoulders. Should the worst happened, he needed to stay here and rule.

Jon stood in the training grounds, where he had practiced with Robb and Theon ever since he was old enough to hold a sword. They were his brothers, even the ironborn who often acted like a prick. Ghost nibbled at his leg, trying to attract Jon's attention.

"Sorry, buddy! Am I brooding too much for your taste?" asked Jon, as he squished the pup's ear in a playful manner. Thanks to Ghost he had found the other pups. Six direwolves south of the wall…found by a bastard boy.

"It took a pup direwolf for you to finally notice that, Snow?!" Jon heard a voice say, behind him. He smiled, as he recognized the owner.

"Perhaps I'm a slow learner, Greyjoy…but how many more women will it take you to fuck before you notice you're a cunt?!" answered Jon with a chuckle. He had learned a long time ago to never take the ironborn too seriously, and that way he even started to like him.

"You wound me, bastard…I even brought you a goodbye gift…but if you don't want it, I can keep it" Jon couldn't help but smile, as he didn't expect something like that from Theon.

"I might be a bastard by birth, Theon, but you're one by choice…What is it?" he answered back, curious.

"When I left the Iron Islands, my mother gave me this, so I could return home someday" and as he spoke, he took out a medallion beneath his surcoat and handed it to Jon. An iron kraken over bronze; it was a simple work, but Jon could see how much it meant to Theon.

"Theon, I can't…"

"When I first came here, I thought a wolf would eat me alive, but here I stand. My father and brothers died in Braavos, they're but names to me. Ser Eddard and Lord Rickard showed me what honour means. You and Robb are my brothers. Take this, bastard, and return home…I don't plan on mourn for you!"

Jon accepted the gift and pulled Theon for a hug. It felt odd enough, but they dealt with it. They wouldn't see each other for a while, so they ignored the awkwardness and went through with it. When they broke the hug, Jon finally spoke "I heard you are going too. Back to the Iron Islands, as their Lord"

"My grandfather has passed away, and if I don't return soon my people will rebel and King Rhaegar will strip me of my lands and titles…I don't really want that to happen. Gods, I wish I was going with you instead" said Theon, melancholically. A bastard's freedom is something even trueborn sons envy, it seemed.

"I don't envy you. Being a bastard does have its benefits…I guess. The Stranger seems busy. I heard Old Walder Frey died as well, I know he was old, but still, it's a little odd"

"You don't even follow the Seven, Jon! Like the Valyrian said, all men must die. I didn't know Lord Quellon well, but he sent me here and for that I'll be forever grateful. That's why I'm going back, to repay him!"

The sun banished an hour ago, and yet Winterfell remained busy with soldiers, readying themselves for war. Jon knew the brothels of Wintertown were full, as Theon tried to take him to one. "You're no seeing any girls where you're going, better not to waste this opportunity, Snow." He remembered Theon saying. Although perhaps he was right, Jon declined his invitation anyway. He still had farewells to say.

He knew the Old Wolf, Robb and Lady Stark were going to see them off, as was their duty as heads of House Stark, but the boys and the girls were a completely different matter. They were not early birds, more like wolfs in that regard. Jon decided to visit little Rickon first. A good call, as Lady Stark was with him. He helped his aunt put the boy to sleep. Jon had to promise his young cousin to bring him a token from beyond the wall, or he threaten to stay awake all night. He hugged the boy and wished him a good night sleep, but Lady Stark held a troubled look.

"You seem worried, my lady" Jon said, knowing full well that look in Lady Stark's face. She was troubled, no doubt.

"I know you and Ned will be fine, but all my children are going away, and I can't do anything to stop it! They're all growing, I know, and it's only natural they leave their home behind, but they're still children. They're my children! And now, Ned is leaving me alone with Lord Rickard…that man will try to take Rickon away from me too, but I won't let him, Jon! I swear to the Old Gods and the New, I won't!"

Jon took a deep breath and held Lady Stark's hand in his. "Listen to me, my lady. Your children will be fine, because you raised them! I know this, because you raised me as well…Rickon is still a child, he should've a child's life! But winter is coming, and you should prepare him for that too! Believe me, my lady, no children of yours will ever be unprepared for anything. I know that too."

Lady Stark was holding her oncoming tears, as she said, "Thank you, Jon. You've become a good man…your mother would be proud of you!"

Jon shook his head and kissed her forehead. "Lady Stark…you're my mother!" She embraced him, and he didn't resist. Lyanna Stark might've given birth to him, but Catelyn Tully raised him as her own son, and for that Jon would be ever thankful.

Once Lady Stark felt a little better, Jon left Rickon's room and went to Bran's, which was the closest, but the boy inside was fast asleep. Jon stepped inside only to give his little cousin a kiss in his forehead. "Be safe" he whispered and left the room. Bran was quick to laugh and easy to love. Jon knew he would break the stone façade of Stannis Baratheon. He didn't know the man but had heard stories of his sharp words and harsh courtesies. If Robert Baratheon was his father, that made Stannis his uncle…but Jon doubted the man would care for a bastard he never met.

Lost in his thoughts, Jon found himself in front of Arya's room. There was a time he and the girl were close, but that changed since his last nameday. He had japed with Sansa about how he was already a man, and how every northern lady would try to kiss him. She mocked him and called Jon a bad kisser. He took the jape as a dare…so, Jon kissed Sansa to prove her wrong. It was innocent at first, but soon she kissed him back, and the kiss stopped to be innocent. Jon could remember her touch, her lips, and the way her hair went through his fingers. Arya saw them, and she has not talked to him since then. Her last words to him, with tears in her eyes, Jon remembered, were 'Why her?'.

Arya was going as far away from the North as anyone could get in Westeros. Jon knew not if he would see her again. The bastard wondered if he should knock, say a last farewell to the girl, but he decided against it.

Turning to leave, Jon heard a voice at his back. "I never believed you a craven" said the voice, and the bastard didn't need to look at the owner to know it was Arya. She was covered in dirt and some bruises; probably a poor squire she convinced to spar with her.

"How is the other guy?" asked Jon, shy.

"Ser Rodrik has a new squire. Some boy named Ollie…he fights like a girl!" said Arya with disgust, and Jon couldn't help but chuckle.

"Arya…you're a girl!" he said with a smile.

"Oh, you finally notice! Good, it took you long enough!" said the girl, in clear anger.

Jon felt uncomfortable and wasn't sure what to say now. "I ride to the Wall in the morrow" he threw, wanting to change the subject.

"I know. A thousand men are going with you, as is my father" she said, bothered.

"I wanted to say goodbye…"

"You've said it, now leave!" said Arya, as she went to her room, but Jon's hand acted first, grabbing the girl's arm, stopping Arya in her tracks. "You're hurting me! Let go!"

"What happened, Arya?! We used to be so close. I loved you like a sister" Jon argued, losing himself a little, but he wanted to learn the truth.

"Let me go!" the girl demanded, and so he did. "A sister, you say? Is that it? What about Sansa? Clearly you feel different about her! All everyone talks about it's her! 'Sansa is such a perfect lady…Arya, why aren't you more like Sansa?' Everyone believes her so much beautiful than me…but I never cared, because I had you! But it turns out, you preferred her as well! You could have kissed anyone else that night; Jayne Pool, Mira Forrester, me…anyone! Why her?!"

Jon was left speechless, the tears in Arya's face breaking her heart. "Arya…I…"

"Save it, Jon…I don't want your pity…You came to say goodbye, you have. Now go!" Arya said, and Jon did nothing as she entered her room and closed the door in his face. He wanted to tear that door apart, yet he respected the girls wishes and left.

The morrow came, and even at dawn Winterfell remained as busy as it had been during the week. The host was ready, the thousand men were already outside of Winterfell's walls, with only the main commanders still inside of them. Lords Jorah Mormont, Theo Wull, Galbart Glover, Medger Cerwyn, and Ser Herman Tallhart. All waiting on their horses, as Jon and his uncle Ned gave their family a last farewell.

As Jon had thought, Lady Catelyn, Robb and Lord Rickard were there to see them go. Theon was nowhere to be seen, and Jon knew he probably was still sleeping in Wintertown's brothel. Yet he was surprised to see Sansa there as well, but not really…Sansa always did her duty.

"My lady" he addressed his aunt, to which she laughed at such courtesy.

"Just hug me already!" she demanded. As he embraced her, Jon couldn't hold the tears any longer. That woman raised him, took care of him. She gave him the love his own mother didn't. "Be safe, Jon, and try to keep your uncle out of trouble" she whispered, as she wiped the tears of his eyes. He just nodded.

"What's the matter, Snow, are you going to miss me, cousin?" said Robb, playfully, which made Jon smile as he went to him.

"Only that I won't be here to own your arse in the training yard!" Jon answered, and both laughed it off. Robb pulled him into a hug, and Jon thought of every moment they had spent together. They were brothers, in every way but blood.

Next was his grandfather. Lord Rickard was a harsh and cold man, but even he gave him a smile. "My boy, you're a man now. Help your uncles the best you can and make a name for yourself…and you better not join the Watch while you're there, do you hear me?" the Old Wolf said, and Jon knew he wasn't japing.

The last one was Sansa. He didn't want to say goodbye to her. Jon wanted to take her, marry her and live happily ever after with her and all their children. But those were ill dreams that would never happen. He was a bastard, with nothing to inherit and nothing to give, and she was going to be queen, he just knew it. What prince would be so foolish to not marry her?

"I expected you last night. I thought you would say goodbye…" she asked, and only the sound of her voice was enough to melt Jon's heart.

"Something happened…I'm sorry…I was going to…" he barely mumbled.

"Don't worry…I made this for you". She gave him a piece of black cloth, but when Jon looked it more closely, he saw a white wolf, like Ghost. He couldn't help but smile, as he was delighted with the gift.

"My lady…is this your favour?" he said, teasingly.

"Shut up!" she said, embarrassed, hitting him in a playful manner.

"I'll wear it proudly!" Jon said. He took her hand and kissed it. They did not say more, but they wanted. The bastard knew. He saw in her eyes the same frustration he felt.

He turned his back on her, went to his horse and prepared himself for the upcoming ride. The Wall was waiting for him. It will take the host a fortnight, perhaps two, to arrive. They had to make haste now!

All the riders inside the walls of Winterfell rode through the gates. His uncle Ned going last. Jon was right behind him, when he stopped at hearing Sansa's yelling. "Jon!" he heard her say. "Please be safe!"

Jon only smiled as he turned to see her. So beautiful she was. "Of course!" he said, knowing well neither of them could say more. "I'll be wearing your favour, after all!" he said. Her smile was the last thing he saw before leaving, and that made everything worth it. Jon charged through the gates, knowing one thing: he was going to beat Mance Ryder and his army wearing Sansa's favour.

* * *

Go wild, guys!

I based a little in the original plot for ASOIAF, in which Arya and Jon fell in love and gave it a little twist, adding Sansa into the mix. I've sincerely loved the JonxSansa couple ever since season six of game of thrones. I also changed a few things...Jon knows he's Lyanna's son, but doesn't know who's his father, a neither wil you haha, for now at least.


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